


He Came In Through the Window

by mischiefmanager



Series: The Greater Fool Series [4]
Category: IT (2017)
Genre: Aged-Up Characters (16-17 years old), Ben Ships Reddie, Bill is clueless, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Mike Is Gorgeous and Perfect, Rated T for Trashmouth, References to Past Sexual Situations, Shenanigans, Stan is Sarcastic But What Else Is New
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2019-03-17 14:17:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13660731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mischiefmanager/pseuds/mischiefmanager
Summary: "It’s finally happened. I cannot fit through this goddamn window. I’m out of ideas."orEddie enlists the help of two other Losers to help fix his bedroom window, and finally spills the beans about what's going on between him and Richie.





	He Came In Through the Window

**Author's Note:**

> Hoo boy, guys. This thing got way long! I'm sorry in advance.

“Alright babe,” Richie says, leaning on the sill and looking into Eddie’s eyes, “I’m gonna be straight with you for a second—”

 _“You’re_ gonna be _straight?”_ Eddie mocks.

“Pfft. Straighter than you, that’s for sure,” says Richie. “Except, you know—my dick burns only for you, Eddie my love.”

“If your dick is burning, you should probably see a doctor,” Eddie tells him.

“—and although my raging desire for _your_ dick cannot be contained…” Richie lightly socks the window frame and shakes his head.

Eddie suddenly realizes where this is going. His heart sinks as he grabs hold of the windowsill. “Oh my God, no you—”

“—it’s finally happened. I cannot fit through this goddamn window. I’m out of ideas.” Richie throws his hands in the air. Eddie can see the scrapes on both arms from his valiant, fruitless attempts to worm his way in.

And there it is. Eddie saw this coming many months ago, _long_ before Richie hit six feet. In fact, in the last few weeks alone Richie has gotten stuck for over ten minutes at least four times, and they just sort of silently decided to collectively ignore it and hope that maybe Richie’s body would _chill with the growing for one fucking second._ They’re a third of the way into eleventh grade and it’s still going to be one year, seven months and eighteen days before they can ride off into the sunset or whatever together, and he’s suddenly being forced to face the prospect of _no dick until then._

Unacceptable. Eddie has gotten used to getting off with Richie a minimum of two or three times a week—and cuddling _every night_ —and he isn’t willing to settle for less.

 _Do not cry,_ Eddie tell himself sternly. Crying will not solve anything except that maybe Richie will just yell _Oh Yeah!_ and try to Kool-Aid Man his way through the wall to comfort him, and Eddie’s mom is a heavy sleeper, but no one is _that_ heavy of a sleeper.

No dick until college. No naked Richie. No Richie big-spooning him to sleep and then sneaking out again without waking Eddie up...

“No,” Eddie says and oh God, it comes out like a cross between a whine and a whimper and it’s almost as bad as crying.

To be fair, Eddie might be overreacting a _tiny_ bit. It’s not like there’s _no_ other way for them to _ever_ like...make out and stuff. There have been a few times where they’ve managed to get some daytime action in on the weekends, although Eddie usually avoids that because Richie _always_ starts singing _Afternoon Delight_ when it’s clear that shit’s about to go down and it infuriates Eddie like _nothing else_. And even if that doesn’t work out, Richie is bound to get a car sooner or later, which will hopefully have a backseat. So there will be opportunities.

It’s just that Richie climbing through his bedroom window is like... _Their Thing._ Like, Eddie thinks they could trademark it. It’s a routine, it’s comforting, they’ve never gotten caught...and now it’s _over. Forever._

“Trust me,” Richie says, “the despair is mutual. What if we just tried to like _reeeeeally quietly_ sneak me through the front—”

“No,” Eddie shakes his head. “No, if she was in her room then like, maybe we could risk the hallway…”

_Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry._

Eddie just wishes his mom would sleep in her actual bed for once. She always, _always_ falls asleep in front of the TV and it’s worse than having a gargoyle guarding the house. And Eddie doesn’t even want to _think_ about what would happen if he got caught sneaking _that disgusting Tozier boy_ into his bedroom in the middle of the night.

“Eds, are you crying?” Richie squints through the window.

“Pssh,” says Eddie, “no.” Even to his own ears it sounds watery.

“Okay I swear I’m gonna be like a fuckin’ _ninja,”_ Richie pleads. “Just unlock the front door. Like, go unlock it and I’ll even wait a few minutes to come in, just so we don’t make too much noise at once. It’s gonna work, we can—”

“She’s literally _right there,_ Richie,” Eddie says. “She can _see_ the door from her chair. And if she catches us…” Eddie shakes his head, “she’ll put bars on my window, and then we’ll have _no_ chance. Even if we could open it further—”

“Why _doesn’t_ this window open all the way?” Richie asks. He pokes his head through and then turns around so he’s leaning back like he’s playing limbo and looking up at the ceiling.

“I don’t know,” Eddie says. “I guess...maybe that’s just the kind of window it is? Maybe it’s broken? What do I look like, Mario?”

“Mario’s a plumber, dumbass,” says Richie. “We need a carpenter. Wait, wasn’t Jesus a carpenter?”

“Oh, you’re brilliant,” Eddie tells him. “I’ll just pray real quick—like, _dear God, please use your carpenter skills to fix my window so my boyfriend can come in and suck my dick.”_

“Amen,” says Richie, squinting up at the window frame. He points at the latch from the outside. “That looks like it should go higher. Not like, _a lot_ higher, but I think I could make it through even if it was just a couple inches. At least for now.”

“What you mean ‘for now?’” Eddie asks. “How much taller can you possibly get?”

“I dunno,” Richie tries to shrug, but only succeeds in whacking his shoulders on the window frame. He doesn’t even wince; he must be used to bumping into shit all the time. Eddie has no idea how he’d keep track of all his limbs at the same time if he was _that_ long. “How much shorter can _you_ possibly get?”

 _Rude._ Eddie has been five foot five and no quarters of a inch for long enough that he’s kind of having to come to terms with the fact that that’s probably going to be it for him, but Richie didn’t have to call it out like that. Still, Eddie _technically_ started it, so he figures he can’t get that mad.

“I think that’s literally impossible,” Eddie tells him. “Except for like maybe super old people.”

“Yeah, and I’ll still love you even when you’re so old and short that I have to use a fucking microscope to look at you,” Richie says.

Eddie snorts. “Yeah well, I’ll still love you even when you’re so tall and blind that I have to...shoot missiles into the sky to knock out airplanes before they hit your fat head.”

“That was terrible,” Richie declares, then he laughs, then bucks up and kisses the only part of Eddie he can reach—which is the underside of his nose.

Eddie splutters. “Don’t kiss my nostrils like that, it’s like you’re...like you’re kissing boogers.”

“I’ll eat your boogers any day, babe,” Richie replies, grinning up at him like an idiot.

Eddie shoves the top of his head out the window. “Go home, Richie,” he orders him. “That’s it. That’s the grossest thing you’ve _ever_ said to me. We’re done. I’m closing the window now.”

“No!” Richie cries, still laughing. “I’m gonna have blue balls. At least do a sexy dance or something and I’ll just like jerk it out here before I—”

“I can’t hear you,” Eddie says over him, shoving down on the window frame. “I can’t hear you over the sound of me closing the window on your nasty ass. And I’m not even gonna be sorry when your dick gets frostbite and falls off because you decided to whip it out when it’s fifty fucking degrees out—”

“I’m totally gonna whip it out,” Richie says, reaching for his belt. “I’m just gonna stand here jacking off outside your window until—”

“You could get arrested for that, actually,” Eddie informs him, and Richie looks like he’s about to reply when he suddenly jerks his hand away from his jeans and grabs the windowsill. He’s got that face on that can only mean one thing: _mind switched gears, new topic._

“Oh,” says Richie. “Oh oh oh new idea—do you have an attic?”

“I...maybe?” Eddie says. There’s no way his mom would allow him to go up there if there even is one.

“What if—seriously—what if we just like cut a hole in the roof and—”

“You think my mom isn’t going to notice a fucking hole in the roof? What happens when it rains?!”

“No, I mean like a hole we can open and close,” says Richie.

“You mean like a trapdoor,” Eddie says. “Like we build an entire trapdoor. In my roof.”

“Yeah!” says Richie. “Like that. I played this game once where—”

“Goodnight, Richie.” Eddie closes the window.

“I love you,” Richie calls from outside the house. He smacks a kiss right on the window pane before making a rude tongue-between-two-fingers gesture and wandering off down the side of the house, arms swinging.

* * *

“Rough night?” Ben asks, plopping a stack of books on the desk and sitting down next to Eddie.

“Yeah, I guess,” Eddie says, rubbing his eyes. English is about to start in like two minutes and he knows he looks like shit—bloodshot eyes, dark circles, kind of a mess—and he knows why, too: apparently Eddie’s brain has decided that he is no longer allowed to fall asleep without Richie’s arms around him. And that’s just fucking...great. Eddie lay in bed for hours and hours last night, and at some point after three in the morning he started calculating when the last time was he fell asleep without Richie there and it was like...over six months ago.

He hasn’t seen Richie yet today and he isn’t looking forward to it. Richie is going to instantly know something is wrong, and then he’s going to pester it out of him. Eddie feels like an idiot even thinking the words _I can’t sleep without you anymore_ and can’t imagine saying them without wanting to sink into the ground and die. Richie will without a doubt proceed to tease the absolute shit out of him for it, but then he’ll start pitching newer and stupider ideas for how to get in with renewed vigor. Which will probably result in Richie accidentally burning Eddie’s house down. With the best intentions, of course.

The worst part about this scenario—the one in which Richie torches Eddie’s childhood home to the ground and destroys everything inside—is that it means his mom will find out about him and Richie in the ensuing court case. Eddie can’t have that.

His mom tried to keep him home today because she said he looked like he was coming down with something, but Eddie stubbornly refused. If falling asleep without Richie is his new reality, then he damn well better get used to it.

“Are you okay?” Ben asks, turning to face Eddie and narrowing his eyes.

“Yeah,” Eddie says again, but he knows it sounds unconvincing and Ben isn’t stupid.

Ben also isn’t a prier—he lets people come out with stuff when they’re ready—which is partly why Eddie still hasn’t told him (or any of them) about him and Richie. _Still._ It’s been what...a year and two months? A year and three months? And Eddie still hasn’t managed to spit it out. He and Richie talked about it during the second semester of last year; there was a discussion that was basically Richie saying, _hey uh, are we gonna tell the others about this ever or what?_ and Eddie was like, _yeah for sure, can we just wait until I’m ready?_ And like...apparently he’s still not ready.

It makes him feel kind of sick every time he thinks about it, especially the fact that Richie hasn’t even brought it up again, and Richie is the actual worst secret-keeper of all time. Once in kindergarten, Stan threw up in one of the cubbies where they all kept their backpacks and Richie was the only one who actually saw, but the entire class knew about it within thirty seconds. They hadn’t known Ben longer than fifteen minutes before Richie told him that Bill had kissed Beverly in third grade. Richie does not do secrets. Not telling the others about this whopper must be _killing_ him.

Ben sighs and opens up the top book on his stack. “Well, let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”

Eddie looks blearily to the side and is about to say something like _thanks I will_ and not mean it at all when his eyes decide to focus all of a sudden, and he notices that titles on Ben’s book stack are all things like _A History of New England Architecture,_ and _A Guide to Colonial and Spanish Style Homes._ Eddie sits up straight.

“Actually,” he says, “what...how much do you know about windows?”

“Windows?” Ben repeats, looking up from his book. “Uh...I mean, a little, I guess. Why?”

Eddie thinks fast.

“I have this window in my house and it’s like broken or something. How do you fix that?”

Ben’s face is the picture of confusion.

“Well...um, do you mean like the glass is broken? I think you just have to get a new pane if—”

“No no no,” Eddie interrupts, feeling much more energetic than he has in hours. “There’s nothing wrong with the glass, it’s like...it gets stuck if you try to open it all the way."

“What kind of window is it?” Ben asks.

“Uh…a bedroom window?”

“Like, is it a stationary?” Ben asks. “Or an awning type, or a transom—”

“A _what?”_

Ben tears a page out of his English notebook—neatly, along the perforated edge. “Can you draw it for me?”

Eddie has been sleeping in the same bedroom for his entire life and staring out the only window in it as long as he can remember, and suddenly when faced with the task of drawing it, he can’t seem to remember what it looks like at all.

“Uh… So there’s a bottom part here,” Eddie says, trying to sketch, “and then you pull from the bottom and it stops like halfway up—”

“Can you open it from the top too?” Ben asks.

“No, it only goes—”

“That looks like a single-hung window,” Ben says, nodding. Eddie feels better already. Ben always knows what to do; Eddie was stupid for not coming to him sooner. Like, maybe before it became a goddamn crisis. That would’ve been smart.

“Can you help me fix it?” he asks.

“How long has it been broken?” Ben squints at Eddie’s terrible sketch like it’s going to give him any information at all.

Eddie shrugs. “Forever?”

“I mean there’s probably not anything I can do about it,” says Ben, eyebrows furrowed.

“Maybe you could just come look?” Eddie says. He knows Ben _thinks_ he’s not qualified to deal with this, but Eddie has a distinct memory of Ben _biting_ that god damn clown on the arm and then stabbing it through the back, so he feels that he can be forgiven for his confidence that Ben is capable of a lot more than he thinks he is.

“Well, I was going to call—”

Eddie doesn’t exactly _purposely_ make his eyes look bigger and sadder and more pitiful than they already are, but he doesn’t _not_ do that either. _Cute cute cute,_ he thinks, unbidden. In Richie's voice. It’s gotta be good for something.

“You know what? Nevermind. I can do that tomorrow or...yeah,” Ben says. “So, do you want me to come straight over with—”

“Yes! Yes,” Eddie says. “Please.”

“Cool,” Ben says. “Is...is that what kept you up all night? A broken window?”

“Kinda sorta,” Eddie tells him. “It’s bugging me.”

Ben looks like he’s about to say something else, but just then Mr. Duncan stands up and starts the _alright class, let’s get going_ spiel, so Eddie just faces front and hopes he can come up with a reason Ben will buy as to why he _suddenly desperately today right now_ needs this window that’s never worked to open.

  
But more than that, it occurs to him that maybe he just...won’t lie. Maybe he doesn’t need to think of a fake reason. His eyes glaze over the text of _Julius Caesar._ Usually Eddie comes up with some kind of contingency plan whenever he makes the decision to Tell Everyone for when he inevitably chickens out at the last minute. He’s gone through that process at least fifteen times, and honestly it’s getting kind of exhausting. And he’s already exhausted enough. Maybe he just won’t give himself the out this time. He puts his head on the desk, just for a second, just to rest his eyes, and then suddenly the bell for second period is ringing. Eddie heaves a sigh. It’s going to be...a really long day.

* * *

Eddie gets Ben into the house under the ruse of _Ben is helping me with an English project ma, he’s got the best grades in the class,_ and now Ben is crouched down under the window, fiddling with the latch.

“See, it goes up until there,” Eddie says, watching Ben lift the window. “And then—”

Eddie collapses onto his bed with a groan.

Ben hums, pulling the window back down. He tests it out a few times before peering up into the frame.

“Have you checked the frame?” he asks.

“We were—I mean, I was looking at it last night but it was really dark,” Eddie says from under his pillow, hoping Ben missed the slip-up. “I don’t even know what to look for, even if I could’ve seen it.”

Eddie has, predictably, suddenly decided against telling Ben about him and Richie. Like he always does. This time, his excuse is that he didn’t give Richie a heads up that he was going to do it and that seems like the kind of thing Eddie should probably warn him about first, and also maybe Richie wants to be there when other people find out. And now Eddie is a little bit pissed at himself for not thinking of a contingency plan in case he chickened out...again.

Ben is quiet for a minute before—

“Oh,” Ben says, the kind of _oh_ that means he’s going to fix all of Eddie’s problems. Eddie lurches into a seated position. He already wants to hug Ben. “I see it.”

“Can you fix it?” Eddie asks, trying to keep the anxiety out of his voice.

“Here,” says Ben. “Come look. See that part right there, on the side? That’s water damage. The wood—”

“How do you fix water damage?” Eddie asks him, walking toward the window. Eddie doesn’t particularly care _why_ it isn’t working. He just wants it to work.

“Well, I don’t think there’s a good long-term solution other than replacing the window,” Ben tells him. “But maybe…”

“Yes?”

Ben turns away from the window for a second and looks Eddie right in the eye.

“Why is this suddenly such a big problem?” he asks. “You said it’s never worked, right?”

Eddie’s eyes dart to his door. They’re not talking loudly enough that his mom would be able to hear them from the living room, but if Ben is as close to discovering the truth as Eddie thinks he is, he doesn’t want to take any chances. Ben bites his lip, then walks to the bedroom door and closes it.

“Can I ask you something?” he says quietly.

“Uh...sure,” says Eddie, and he knows in his heart that the jig is definitely up before Ben even opens his mouth. His heartbeat speeds up.

“Are you and Richie—”

“Yes,” Eddie interrupts, before he can stop himself. “Whatever you were gonna say, yes we are.”

Eddie exhales. _Holy shit._ Honestly, it feels so fucking good to tell him. Eddie always expected there would be at least a little discomfort or weirdness or _something_ unpleasant, but there’s not. There’s just this sweet sense of relief and a knot he didn’t even know existed loosening in his stomach. He wants to kick Past Eddie in the balls for not doing this sooner.

Ben’s face breaks into a radiant smile. “Oh wow. I thought so. Does the window thing have anything to do with—”

“Richie won’t fit through the window anymore,” Eddie says, and it’s like the words are tumbling out of his mouth faster than he can keep up with them. “He couldn’t get in last night and I can’t fall asleep if he’s not like...in the bed with me.”

“Wow,” Ben breathes out, and Eddie can hear him thinking _how romantic_ and he wishes he couldn’t because Eddie _already knows_ Richie has turned him into an absolute sap—he doesn’t need further confirmation from other people _ooh-_ ing over them. “Okay. So...first of all—”

“Anything you want to know about...that, like, Richie and me, I’ll tell you,” Eddie says. “But can you _please_ fix the window, I feel like I can’t even _think_ about anything else until I know he’s gonna be able to get in tonight.”

Ben huffs out a laugh and smiles again. “Okay. I don’t really have any experience fixing stuff like that, but Mike told me a few months ago that he had to help his grandpa work on their shed because there was water damage from the rain. He might be able to figure it out.”

“Hmm.” Eddie clicks his tongue, thinking hard. His mom doesn’t really know Mike very well, it’s possible he could just pretend Mike’s from school and say they’re working on the project together. If he got him in fast enough, his mom might not even get a good enough look to question it.

“Be right back,” he tells Ben.

Eddie walks down the hall and into the kitchen. He can see the glow from the TV in the living room out of the corner of his eye, can hear some guy sobbing on _Days of Our Lives._ The music  on the show pauses dramatically as Eddie dials Mike’s number.

_Ring...ring…_

“Hello?”

“Hi Mr. Hanlon,” Eddie says, making a conscious effort to slow his voice down. Adults are always telling Eddie to _speak more slowly_ and it drives him crazy, but he doesn’t want to have to repeat himself over and over right now. “Can I speak to Mike please?”

“Who is this?” Mr. Hanlon asks, not particularly politely.

“Eddie Kaspbrak,” says Eddie. “I’m a friend of Mike’s.”

“Hold on.”

Eddie hears Mr. Hanlon put the phone down on the other line and he leans back against the kitchen table, tapping his fingers against the receiver.

“Eddie-bear?” his mother’s voice floats in from the living room. Eddie’s not sure how he never realized before how fucking creepy it sounds sometimes. Like just this disembodied voice trying to control every aspect of his life. Eddie puts his hand over the speaker.

“Yes, Mommy?”

“Who are you calling?” she asks.

“Mike from English,” Eddie lies. “He’s...we’re doing this project together. I was going to see if he could come over too, so Ben could help both of us.” _Please, please, please be too interested in RJ or JT or whoever’s problems to care about mine._

“Not too long,” she says, and Eddie breathes a sigh of relief.

Eddie hears shuffling on the other line, then a voice.

“Eddie? What’s going on?”

“Hi Mike,” says Eddie. “Um...you wanna come over and work on the English project?”

“What?” says Mike. “I don’t—wait. Is your mom listening? Is everything—”

“Uh, yeah. I have Ben here,” Eddie continues over him, choosing his words carefully. “He says the poster part would be a lot easier with you here. We don’t have the...um...stuff we need.”

“Your house?” Mike asks. “I can be there in twenty minutes. What do you need me to bring?”

God, Eddie could hug Mike too. He suddenly gets the image of himself being squeezed in the middle of a Mike-and-Ben sandwich and honestly, that might be enough to get him to fall asleep without Richie. Sleep...sleep sounds so good...

“Uh…” Eddie pauses. “Just your backpack. And um…”

“I have...farming tools?” Mike suggests. “Want me to start naming stuff?”

“Yeah, that’s good,” says Eddie, trying to sort of muffle his voice in case his mom is listening. “ _Weneedtofixawoodenwindowframe,”_ he whispers under his breath, praying that Mike is able to understand him.

“Wha—oh,” Mike says. “Okay. Like maybe...a hammer? Nails? Screwdriver?”

“Yeah, maybe,” Eddie replies, suddenly wishing he and Ben had come up with a slightly more detailed plan than _get Mike._ Although, to be fair, _get Mike_ is an amazing solution that can solve almost any conceivable problem Eddie’s ever had.

“Tell you what, I’m just gonna grab whatever I can find that might help,” Mike says. “I’ll be right over, okay?”

“Okay,” says Eddie. “Thanks, Mike— _Iloveyousomuch_ —see you soon!”

“Eddie?” his mom calls again as Eddie hangs the phone up.

“Yes?”

“Did you just say ‘thanks Mike sandwich see you soon’?” his mom asks.

“Uh...yeah. Mike Sandwich is his nickname,” Eddie lies, straight out of his ass. “He...brings ham and cheese for lunch every day.” He makes a face at himself. What the hell kind of…

“Okay,” his mom calls back. Evidently she’s too interested in whatever the screaming lady on _Days of Our Lives_ has to say to divert more energy into figuring out what the fuck Eddie could be doing with Mike Sandwich.

Eddie walks back down the hall to his bedroom and quietly closes the door.

“Is he coming?” Ben asks.

“Yeah, he’ll be right over,” Eddie says.

Ben sits down on Eddie’s bed and makes himself comfortable.

“Great. So until he gets here we can talk about you and Richie.”

“Yeah, okay,” says Eddie, perching on the other side of the bed. “What do you want to know?”

“First of all, I _knew_ something was up. I _knew_ it. I was—”

“How the fuck did you know?” Eddie asks, planning on making a mental note to yell at Richie later for whatever it was he did that blew their cover. “I’m like _constantly_ telling him to stop pretending he’s gonna kiss me in public and pushing his hands off me and—”

“Yeah, that’s what gave it away,” Ben says. “All of a sudden last year you just started acting really freaked out every time he touched you. And one time I heard you whisper _‘stop touching my butt where other people can see you_ — _are you aware we’re at fucking school right now?’_ ”

“Wait wait wait,” Eddie interrupts. “Are you saying _I_ was the one who gave it away?”

“Pretty much, yeah,” says Ben. “Richie’s always done that kind of stuff; you just used to go with it and then—”

Eddie has no doubt that Ben remembers that verbatim. Unfortunately, Eddie has said it on at least a dozen different occasions, so it’s impossible to tell when exactly Ben might’ve overheard.

“Oh my God,” Eddie groans. “Do you think _everyone_ knows?”

“Do you mean...everyone like Beverly and Bill and Mike and Stan?” Ben asks. “Or like _everyone_ everyone?”

“Everyone at school…”

“No way.” Ben shakes his head. “No way they’re paying attention. But the rest of us… I kind of told Beverly I thought something might be up. Sorry if—”

“No, that’s okay,” Eddie says. “We were always going to tell you guys, I was just being…”

“You know none of us will think any differently of you, right?” Ben says, sitting up straighter and looking Eddie right in the eye.

“No, I know,” Eddie says. “And I’m sorry it took me so long to—I just...yeah. It was like—it started happening and then—”

“What started happening?”

“Whenever we were alone together we’d like...be kissing or whatever...or then, you know, other stuff...and it was even hard to talk to him about it. You don’t… I was just freaked out because…fuck.” Eddie is having a hard time coming up with a way to say what he means without sounding like he’s insulting Ben.

“Hey,” Ben says softly, leaning towards Eddie. “Remember this?”

He reaches out and takes Eddie’s left hand in his, letting Eddie’s fingers slide over the slightly raised skin of his scar. They don’t talk about it often, but it’s something all of them have done at one point to each other—reminding one another that whatever it is that’s going on isn’t stronger than their bond. Of what they overcame together.

“Yeah,” says Eddie, nodding. “But—”

“No, there’s no ‘but,’” Ben insists. “‘But’ nothing. You love Richie, Richie loves you, and that’s great. I think it’s great. The rest of us will too. And if people find out—other people—and they give you guys a hard time, they’ll have us to reckon with. We’ll all fight for you.”

Eddie gets that this is an emotional moment and that maybe he should be crying or some shit—and also he suddenly really understands why Ben has the best grades in their English class—but instead of sobs, what comes out of his mouth when he opens it is just this...it’s like a Shakespeare-style monologue of every romantic thought he’s ever had about Richie in his life. He takes maybe two breaths in ten minutes and he knows he’s talking so fast that Ben can’t possibly be processing more than a third of what he’s saying, but he can’t stop. He can barely keep up with himself. It’s like now that he has someone to say it all to, _he has to say it all right now._

“...and just like sometimes I just look at him and he just smiles at me and just _ugh,_ you know?”

“...on Valentine’s Day he _literally_ brought me chocolate. I mean, it was a king-size Kit-Kat and I think he stole it from the Circle K and it was melted because he forgot to take it out of his pocket but, you know, it was still pretty cute…”

“...and then sometimes I think that _Heroes_ by David Bowie _has_ to be, like “our song” because like the lyrics are so amazing and I think about that ‘you will be mean’ part and how—”

The doorbell rings. Eddie stops speaking abruptly and turns toward his bedroom door.

“Are you gonna tell Mike right now?” Ben asks.

“Yeah, probably,” Eddie says, suddenly wishing all of them were here. He’s gonna have to wait to tell everyone else, but his mouth has clearly done a manual override of his brain and all he can do is hope he doesn’t declare his undying love for Richie to Mike in front of his mother.

Eddie races to the front door. Mike is standing outside, truck parked neatly in the driveway and carrying a very full-looking backpack on both shoulders.

“Come in,” says Eddie, practically dragging Mike inside and pushing him as far down the hall as he can while calling “Mom, this is Mike, Mike this is Mom, come on, let’s get started,” in the direction of the living room. He slams his bedroom door shut behind Mike.

“Are you okay, Eddie?” Mike asks immediately.

“Not really,” Eddie answers honestly. “We need to make that window open all the way before it gets dark so that Richie can fit through it tonight.”

“Oh,” says Mike, “okay. What’s keeping it from—“

“Richie and I are together,” Eddie volunteers. “Like...boyfriends, or whatever.”

“Not _or whatever_ ,” Ben interjects. “You _are_ boyfriends.”

Mike really does have the most charming smile Eddie’s ever seen. “Wow, I bet Richie is over the moon,” he says.

“Why?” Eddie asks.

“Well,” says Mike, dropping his backpack over next to the window and unzipping it, “obviously cause you’re a catch.”

Eddie just hopes he doesn’t look as blush-y and butterflies-in-the-stomach-y as he feels. He should be used to Mike’s easy compliments by now, but they always seem to catch him off-guard. He’s not flirting or anything, he’s just really _that_ nice.

“Also cause he told me a while back about how much he wanted to be with you,” Mike continues, “and he talks about how much he likes you all the time when you’re not there. When did you guys—”

“Um, like...last summer,” Eddie says.

Mike’s eyebrows raise as he peers up into the window frame. “Really? That’s about when he told me he was crushing on you the first time, I just didn’t—oh, I see it. Water damage, huh?”

“That’s what I thought,” Ben says, getting up from the bed and crouching down next to Mike.

“Yeah, see that part sticking out right there?” Mike points to something and Ben nods. “I bet if you chipped it off—”

“But what if it gets humid?” Ben says. “Then it’s just going to start warping out again.”

“Nah,” says Mike. “I mean, yeah it will, but it’ll take _years_ to get this bad again. You could probably put a sealant over it though—if you have some, I don’t have any—and that would at least delay the—”

“I literally only need this window to function for another one year, seven months and eighteen days,” Eddie interjects. “It can fall apart the next morning after that as far as I care.”

Mike laughs. “Gotcha. Here’s the thing though: I’m assuming your mom doesn’t know about any of this.”

“Right,” Eddie confirms.

“I’m thinking I’m probably gonna need to use a chisel or something and scrape that damaged part out. I’ll try to keep it as quiet as I can,” Mike says.

Eddie watches from his perch on the bed as Mike rummages through his backpack and emerges with what Eddie assumes must be a chisel, then crouches down and begins using it to pick at something in the window frame.

“Wow,” he says after a few minutes. “This stuff is just chipping right off. Eddie, you might want to sweep it up or something, Richie’s gonna step right in the splinters if we leave them here.”

Eddie hums. Going out to the kitchen to get a broom… He screws up his face. Too risky. He walks over to Mike, then gets down on his knees and starts carefully picking up the splinters with his fingers, collecting them in the palm of his other hand. Mike stops scraping for a second to stare at him, mouth open.

“You really _do_ love Richie,” Ben says. His voice is nothing short of awestruck.

“You didn’t get that from all the shit I said earlier?” Eddie asks him, dropping the splinters into the garbage can.

“Yeah but...you just picked up a bunch of splinters with your bare hands,” Ben points out. “And you didn’t even complain about it. That’s love. Especially coming from you.”

Ben...has a point. Eddie dusts off his hands over the garbage one last time.

“That was all the loose stuff,” Mike says, looking up into the window once more. “The rest looks like it’s gonna be harder to scrape out. Just to be safe, you might want to—I don’t know—make some noise or something to cover it up. You think she’s listening?”

“Oh yeah,” Eddie nods, reaching under the bed and producing a towel. “Definitely. If she hears like...hammering or whatever she’ll get really suspicious. But here, take this. Once I go out there, just like jam it as hard as you can under the door. I use it every night to soundproof the room so...you know. So she can’t hear...yeah. Us.”

Mike makes an attempt at hiding his smile and fails. Ben doesn’t even bother trying. Eddie’s face feels like it’s on fire.

“Got it,” Ben tells him, taking the towel and rolling it up like a burrito. “What are you going to do to distract her?”

“I dunno,” Eddie says, glancing around the room for ideas. Maybe it’s the sleep deprivation or the adrenaline rush of telling Ben and Mike his Big Secret, but he’s feeling reckless and lucky and his eyes settle on the boombox by his desk. “Something crazy.”

Eddie heaves the heavy cassette player into his arms on his way to the door and strides down the hallway, stopping where his mom can see him, but where he can also glance sideways and see his door. The door shuts very quietly, and then the light from underneath it disappears as Eddie assumes Ben has inserted the towel underneath.

Eddie’s mom is sitting in her chair, like always, painting her fingernails. Eddie doesn’t even have to look to tell the color—a frosted, bubblegum pink that he knows by sight if not by name, made by Revlon—because he’s been using it to paint her toenails (which she can’t reach) every other week since he can remember. She looks up at him.

“What’re you boys up to, Eddie-bear?” she asks, blowing daintily on her pinky finger.

“Just homework,” Eddie tells her quickly. “We wanted to put some music on, but I think—do we have any D batteries?”

“Did you check—”

Just then, Eddie hears a soft thudding sound from the direction of his room. His mom’s eyes dart toward the hallway.

Thinking fast—or possibly not even thinking at all—Eddie slams the play button.

 

_WE ALWAYS HAVE A REAL GOOD TIME_

_AND MAYBE HE SINGS OFF-KEY_

_BUT THAT’S ALRIGHT BY ME_

 

Eddie’s mom almost drops her bottle of nail polish in surprise. The volume must’ve been at max—turning the dial all the way up when Eddie’s not looking so the next time he puts on music it practically blasts him across the room is a favorite prank of Richie’s—and Eddie has never in his life been so grateful for it. It’s the _perfect_ distraction, and the kind of favor Richie only seems to be able to do by accident. God damn, Eddie loves that asshole.

“Sorry Mommy!” Eddie calls, pretending to fiddle with the dials in search of the volume. Like he doesn’t know where it is.

 

_BECAUSE WHAT HE DOES, HE DOES SO WELL_

 

 _Damn right,_ Eddie thinks, fighting off the insane giggle bubbling up in his throat. He crouches down with the boombox and glances surreptitiously toward the hallway. Nothing is happening.

 

_MAKES ME WANT TO YELL_

_LET’S HEAR IT FOR THE BOY_

_LET’S GIVE THE BOY A HAND_

 

Eddie’s glad there’s no way his mom can hear his suppressed laughter over Deniece Williams. God, he needs some sleep.

Eddie looks up in time to see his mom place her nail polish on the TV tray. Oh shit. What if she gets up? Eddie didn’t think of that. He looks desperately toward the hallway. Nothing.

“No, Ma—don’t get up—I got it,” he calls again. “It’s just—”

A frantic motion out of the corner of his eye grabs his attention. It’s Ben—he’s opened Eddie’s bedroom door and is waving. When Eddie looks up at him, he smiles and gives him a thumbs up.

 

_MAYBE HE’S NO ROMEO_

_BUT HE’S MY LOVIN’ ONE-MAN SHOW_

_WHOA WHOA_ —

 

Eddie smacks the power button and the music stops abruptly. He stares up at his mom, who has placed a hand on each armrest like she’s about to heave herself up off the chair.

“Guess it doesn’t need new batteries,” Eddie says, going for a bright, cheerful tone.

“Eddie, it’s not good for your hearing to listen to loud music,” his mom says, settling back in her chair and picking up her nail polish bottle again. “And your friends should go home before it gets too late.”

“Yes, Ma,” he tells her, heaving the boombox back into his arms and making his exit. He sets it back on his desk once he’s back in his room and looks anxiously up at Mike.

“I love that song, by the way,” says Ben, closing the door behind him and replacing the towel under Eddie’s bed.

Mike beams and raises the window as far as it will go—which is at least four inches higher than it was last night. Richie will be able to make it through without becoming a contortionist. Eddie breathes a sigh of relief and sinks down onto his bed.

“Thanks so much,” Eddie breathes out, rubbing his eyes.

“You look like you could use a nap,” Mike tells him.

“Want me to call Richie?” Ben asks.

“No,” Eddie shakes his head, “I better… I have so much homework. I need to read whatever it was we went over in English today. I think I fell asleep.”

“You did,” Ben says, patting him on the back. “We went over Antony’s speech. Act III.”

“Thanks,” Eddie mumbles. “Thank you guys. Seriously. So much.”

“Hey,” says Mike, patting him on the shoulder. “Anytime.” Eddie smiles up at him.

Ben is quiet for a moment before he says, “Are you gonna tell Bill and Stan? And—”

“You can tell Beverly,” Eddie finishes for him. Ben looks very pleased. “I’ll tell Bill and Stan. Or maybe I’ll let Richie do it—I don’t know. I have to talk to him—I didn’t tell him I was gonna tell you guys either. He’s wanted to for like...ever. I was the one being weird about it. And I don’t want you to think it was anything you did or… It was just me. I was freaked out and I kind of still am because—”

“No,” Mike interrupts, “it’s okay. People here… It’s not easy being different. I get that.”

“I should’ve told you guys though,” Eddie says. “Like, I knew you’d—I knew you wouldn’t treat me like…”

“No one’s mad at you,” Ben tells him, very gently.

“No, I know,” says Eddie. “I’m just mad at myself because like… Jesus, I knew as soon as I told you I’d be like, _why the fuck didn’t I do this sooner_ like I basically put myself into this stupid position and—”

“Eddie?” his mom calls from the living room. “I think it’s about time your friends head home. They’ve been here long enough, especially since you weren’t feeling well this morning. You need to start getting ready for dinner.”

“Just a minute,” Eddie calls back.

“It’s not even four…” Ben whispers to Eddie in confusion.

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Don’t even try. It’s not...she just doesn’t want me to have friends over. Or like...friends. At all.”

“What does she want you to do?” Mike asks.

“She wants me to sit in the living room and watch _The Bold and The Beautiful_ with her until one of us dies,” Eddie responds. He nods at the identical looks of horror on Ben and Mike’s faces.

“That’s…” Mike starts.

“One year. Seven months. Eighteen days,” Eddie repeats. It’s his personal mantra. “Then Richie and I…” Eddie snaps his fingers and flings out his arm. “Gone.”

“To where?” asks Ben.

“We don’t know yet,” Eddie says, standing and preparing to escort Ben and Mike to the front door. “We’ve talked about New York, LA. I guess it depends where we get in. Or, you know, where I get in. If Richie wants to go to college, or…”

“Can I come visit you guys there?” Ben asks, swinging his backpack onto his shoulders as Mike does the same.

“You better,” Eddie says with a grin, directing his answer to both of them. Eddie follows them down the hall as Mike quietly offers Ben a ride home and Ben accepts with murmured thanks. They nod politely to Eddie’s mom, who doesn’t look away from the TV. Eddie watches their retreating backs for a moment, wishing he could go with them to...wherever. Somewhere else.

“Eddie-bear.”

Eddie takes a deep breath, shutting the door behind his friends, and closes his eyes, preparing to face his mom. One year. Seven months. Eighteen days.

* * *

After a microwaved dinner eaten with his mom in front of the TV, Eddie takes advantage of a commercial break during _Wheel of Fortune_ while she gets up to use the bathroom.

“ _Yeee_ llo?”

“Hey,” Eddie whispers quickly into the phone.

“I gotta tell you,” Richie says, “when you use that secret-mission spy voice it does something to my—”

“Shut up,” Eddie hisses. “I fixed the problem.”

“What problem?”

“You know... _the_ problem we were having?” Eddie doesn’t want to say _the window_ just in case his mom has somehow developed supersonic hearing. “It’s fixed.”

“The...oh my God,” says Richie. “Oh my God, start unzipping right now and I’ll be there by the time your pants hit the floor.” There’s a click as Richie hangs up the phone.

Not one second later, Eddie hears the toilet flush at the other end of the hall. He hurries to take his seat back in the living room, hoping he looks like he hasn’t moved.

“I think I’m going to go to bed a little early,” Eddie tells his mom once she’s gotten settled in her chair.

“Sweetie,” she says, turning towards him and gazing at him like she’s trying to X-ray him with her eyes, “are you sure you’re feeling alright?”

“Oh yeah, Ma,” says Eddie, nodding confidently, smiling his sweetest. “I’m fine, but I know you were worried so I want to make sure I get plenty of sleep.” _Gotta really slather it on._

“Alright,” she tells him, apparently satisfied. _Oh yeah, eat that shit up, Mom._ “Good night. I love you, Eddie-bear.” She proffers her cheek for him to kiss and he does so.

Eddie has biked between his and Richie’s houses at least a hundred times over the course of his life, and because of that, he is aware that it takes almost exactly seven minutes to do so. Which is why after saying goodnight to his mother, brushing his teeth, washing his face and using the bathroom (all of which took a total of five minutes) he is surprised to walk into his bedroom and see Richie’s face peering at him from outside the window. He shoves the towel under the door and rushes to let Richie in.

“How the fuck did you get here so fast?” he whispers, opening the window.

Richie wags his eyebrows, grinning wide. “Followed my heart. And by that I mean my—”

“I know what you mean.” Eddie rolls his eyes.

“What?” Richie says, poking his head in. “Can’t a guy be excited to see his boyfriend?”

“You already saw me,” Eddie says, watching with satisfaction and relief as Richie climbs easily through the window. “You saw me like...all day. Lunch and history and—”

The rest of Eddie’s sentence is drowned out by Richie kissing him—hard and deep, hands in Eddie’s hair. Eddie wraps his arms around Richie’s neck and sighs in contentment because this...this is what all that stress was for, it’s worth tiptoeing around his mother and the sneaking and the—

“I notice your pants are still on,” Richie whispers against his lips.

Eddie tries to think of something witty to say back, or maybe something kind of sexy, but when he tries to speak—to his absolute horror—he instead yawns directly into Richie’s mouth.

Richie immediately stops kissing him and pulls back, staring, eyebrows so high they’ve disappeared into his hair.

“I’m sorry, am I _boring_ you, Eds?”

“No,” Eddie squeaks, untangling his arms from around Richie and using both hands to cover his mouth. His body apparently decides that the first yawn didn’t get the message across, so he yawns again, furiously trying to keep his mouth closed and his expression even.

“What the fuck was that?” Richie asks. “Did you just shit yourself?” Charming, as always.

“Shut the fuck up,” Eddie says. “I didn’t—ew. No. I’m just…”

“About to pass the fuck out,” Richie says, nodding. He’s still smiling just as brightly as he was when he arrived. He then stands up very straight (which he rarely does—it adds to his already ridiculous height noticeably) and bends at the waist. “Allow me to escort you to your chambers, Sleeping Beauty.”

“No—Richie I—”

Before Eddie can say anything else, Richie has hoisted him up under the knees and is attempting to carry him—bridal-style—to bed. Eddie flails wildly.

“Put me down, put me down,” he says, pushing away from Richie’s chest and trying not to fall on his ass. “Stop stop stop, you can’t—”

“What do you mean _I can’t?”_ Richie interrupts, struggling mightily under Eddie’s weight. His legs wobble during the five or six steps it takes him to transport Eddie from the window to the bed, but to his credit, he doesn’t drop him.

“Jesus,” Richie says, heaving Eddie bodily into the bed and kicking his shoes off without untying the laces, “how are you ten thousand pounds? What the fuck have you been eating lately?”

“It’s not _me,_ you’re just weak as hell,” Eddie replies as Richie sticks his tongue out, dropping his coat on the floor. He grabs his shirt from the back of his neck and pulls it off in one fluid motion, tossing it down with his jacket and getting started on his belt while Eddie watches. It’s...he’s _so_ exhausted, but he can’t help licking his lips. Watching Richie unbuckle his belt one-handed, pull down his fly…

“Don’t look at me like that,” Richie says, interrupting his thoughts. “You need sleep.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Eddie grumbles.

Richie climbs into bed behind him. Eddie huffs a little wistfully at the trail of hair disappearing under the waistband of Richie’s boxers.

“My dick will still be there tomorrow, don’t worry,” Richie assures him, pulling the covers up over both of them and cuddling up behind him.

“Not if you keep bugging Stan the way you were at lunch today,” Eddie says, twisting around to look him in the eye. “I thought he was gonna chop your balls off right there in the cafeteria.”

“Stan loves me,” Richie says confidently, kissing Eddie softly on the lips. “He just shows it through death threats. It’s our thing. I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

“No, I totally understand,” Eddie says. “I want to kill you half the time too.”

“Then I for _sure_ have something to look forward to tomorrow,” says Richie, pulling Eddie close and wrapping his arms around him. “I get a handjob, or murdered. Sounds like a good time either way.”

Eddie chuckles softly. “Shut up, Richie.”

“See?” Richie says, nuzzling into Eddie’s hair. “You do love me.”

“I do,” Eddie murmurs. His eyes are closing of their own volition, but he knows he has something important to talk to Richie about. “And I told that to Ben and Mike today.”

Richie tightens his grip around Eddie. “You did? Really?”

“Mmhmm.”

“What’d they say?” Richie asks.

Eddie smiles. “They were cool.”

“Did you ever think they wouldn’t be?”

“Nah,” says Eddie. “I knew they would be, I just…”

“You wanna tell Bill and Stan too?” Richie asks.

“Mmm,” says Eddie. “Yeah. Movie Day.”

“Okay.” Richie presses a kiss into Eddie’s hair.

The last thing he remembers hearing—the last thing he remembers at all before his alarm goes off in the morning—is Richie whispering in his ear, “You know...I didn’t get any sleep last night either.”

* * *

Three nights of falling asleep in Richie’s arms and Eddie is feeling a lot better by the time he’s biking over to Bill’s on Saturday for an Extra Special Movie Day. It’s windy as fuck, and Mr. and Mrs. Denbrough have gone out of town to pick up like, an antique dresser or something that Mr. Denbrough is supposed to re-lacquer or sand or do whatever it is he does to the shit he works on. Eddie imagines that for popular kids this kind of no-parents opportunity would be a house party occasion, but all it means for them is that they’ll probably watch something R-rated instead of PG-13.

Eddie’s not sure what, though. Richie, who either doesn’t understand their turn-based system or just pretends not to, _had_ been campaigning for _Silence of the Lambs,_ although admittedly he didn’t get very far. Frankly, Eddie he feels like he personally has been scared enough for one lifetime, although he hadn’t actually wanted to _say_ that, but Mike—in an unprecedented move—flat-out refused. Mike _never_ vetoes people’s suggestions, which Eddie guesses is the reason Richie immediately dropped it and hasn’t brought it up again.

Eddie turns onto Witcham, trying to remember whose weekend it is to pick the movie. It’s not his and it’s not Richie’s, that he knows for sure. He suspects it’s either Bill or Ben, neither of which is a particularly good thing. Bill picked _Bull Durham_ last time they watched something R-rated, which was about baseball and had a sex scene that was… Well, it was just _a lot._ Eddie doesn’t really like watching sex scenes, especially not with other people. It’s not _terrible_ if it’s just him and Richie—even though Richie invariably starts cracking jokes or imitating the moaning noises—but Eddie could definitely go for _not_ sitting in uncomfortable silence surrounded by all his friends, watching Susan Sarandon get nailed by Kevin Costner in a bathtub.

Ben almost invariably chooses romantic movies, often comedies. They’re usually at least critically acclaimed because Ben is a tasteful guy like that. However, Ben is also a serial re-watcher, and Eddie liked _Sleepless in Seattle_ the first couple of times, but it’s already starting to get old. Meg Ryan is great—it’s not that—but if Ben shows up holding _Joe Versus the Volcano_ or _When Harry Met Sally_ again, Eddie feels like he might have to use his veto card.

He makes it to Bill’s, which is surprising because Eddie spent the whole ride over pretty sure that he and his bike were about to be picked up and carried away by the wind. Eddie leaves his bike in the stack leaned up against Mike’s truck, still undecided as to whether he’d rather watch something picked out by Ben or Bill.

Turns out, Eddie was wrong. It’s Stan’s turn again, and he’s brought _The Princess Bride,_ which is one of those movies that everyone in the world seems to have memorized and Eddie has somehow never seen. Apparently the rest of them haven’t either because Stan is in the middle of lecturing the room at large about _classics_ and _being uncultured_ when Eddie arrives.

“We taped it when it was on TV,” Stan explains, taking it out of a plain black box. The title is written on a sticker affixed to the front of the tape in Stan’s careful handwriting. “It’s a great movie.”

“I love _The Princess Bride_ ,” Ben says, walking into the room behind Eddie and flopping onto the couch.

“Hoo boy,” Richie says, settling in on the couch across from Ben and patting the spot next to him, indicating that Eddie should take a seat. “A ringing endorsement from both Stan _and_ Ben? Wake me up when it’s over.”

“Wh-what’s it about?” Bill asks.

“Honestly, it’s _insane_ that none of you have seen it. So, it’s about a girl who’s engaged to a prince,” Stan says. “She was in love with someone else, but he was lost at sea and presumed dead. The prince is trying to start a war with a neighboring kingdom, and he tries to use her as a political tool to incite—”

Richie yawns very loudly and obnoxiously.

“—a confrontation,” Stan continues, even more loudly. “It’s told by a grandfather who’s reading the book to his grandson. The book is very good too, by the way,” Stan adds. “I’ve read it.”

“I don’t think I knew there was a book,” says Ben.

“Oh, you _definitely_ should read it,” Stan replies. “I have it at home, I’ll let you borrow it if you want to stop by my house on the way back.

“You’re letting him _borrow your stuff?”_ Richie says with an exaggerated gasp. “Stan, you might as well announce your engagement now.”

“Ben borrows books from me all the time,” Stan tells him, smoothing out a crease in his shorts. “And unlike some people, he manages not to get gum on—”

“That was _once,”_ Richie interrupts. “That happened _one fucking time.”_

“—and I learned my lesson about letting you touch my stuff,” Stan finishes. “Or—Ben—I can just bring it to school on Monday and give it to you then.”

The brush-off would carry more weight if Richie wasn’t currently in possession of half of Stan’s comic books. Stan likes to pretend he doesn’t trust Richie, but Eddie knows better. They all do.

“I could take you both over to Stan’s tonight,” Mike suggests.

“Oh really?” says Ben. “That’d be great, thanks Mike!”

“That works out really well actually because then I can give you back _The Sun Also Rises_ ,” Stan says to Mike. “I finished it last night, it—”

“Oh, how’d you like it?” Mike asks him.

“What is this, a book club? I wanted to watch _Batman,”_ Richie announces over him to no one in particular, then he turns to Eddie. “I’m sorry, I tried.”

Stan rolls his eyes.

Eddie scoots infinitesimally closer to Richie, who leans down slightly, very casually.

“We still gonna tell them?” he breathes. Eddie nods quickly.

It’s been decided. He’s not backing out again. Today is the day. At some point—Eddie’s not sure _what_ point but he hopes he’ll know the right moment when it arrives—they’re gonna make the announcement that they’re _in a relationship_ to the only two remaining members of the group who aren’t aware of it.

They’re only about fifteen minutes into the movie when Eddie realizes that Stan has Done The Thing again—The Thing he does every time it’s his turn to pick a movie. Despite the fact that Stan has not, to Eddie’s knowledge, ever chosen anything that wasn’t at least pretty good, he is so terrible at describing movie plots that they all continually forget how good the other movies he’s shown them are. It’s a defense mechanism, Eddie thinks, to automatically put up his guard against a movie described as “an eccentric family in upstate New York dealing with the reappearance of an estranged uncle, legal issues regarding a large inheritance, and an accountant embezzling funds to pay off his debts,” even if that movie turns out to be _The Addams Family._

 _The Princess Bride_ is no different. It’s funny and charming and romantic and Eddie finds himself leaning further and further into Richie as the story goes on, until he’s practically on top of him. They’re all pretty physically affectionate, Eddie thinks, as far as friend groups go, but the way he’s sitting with Richie feels especially couple-y. Richie’s not complaining though, in fact, he’s matching Eddie move for move. Eddie inches closer, Richie spreads his legs so they’re thigh-to-thigh. Eddie bumps his shoulder, Richie rests an arm on the back of the sofa behind him. Eddie sneaks his arm behind Richie on the sofa to wrap around his back, Richie’s hand finds its way into Eddie’s hair.

The only issue he can find with _The Princess Bride_ —and this isn’t really the movie’s fault—is the way Richie’s eyes light up when Mandy Patinkin speaks. By the end, Richie’s mouthing the words along with the character, _my name is Inigo Montoya, you killed my father, prepare to die,_ and Eddie is grappling with the fact that he’s going to _for sure_ be hearing that voice for the rest of his fucking life.

“As you wish,” says the old grandpa on screen, and then the movie ends.

 _It’s time,_ Eddie thinks. _If there ever was a good time, it’s now._ Any second people are going to turn around and see him cuddled up into Richie’s side, Richie’s arm around him, Richie’s hand on his thigh. Ben is next to them and he’s looked over at them and smiled at least a gajillion times over the course of the movie, but he doesn’t count.

“Hey guys?” Eddie says. Bill, Stan and Mike swivel around. A tiny furrow appears in between Bill’s eyebrows as he looks between Eddie and Richie, but he doesn’t say anything. Stan makes eye contact with Eddie and blinks at him expectantly. Mike just smiles at Ben.

“Um…” Eddie clears his throat. “I—we—Richie and I, I guess, just wanted to like, uh...let you guys know…” He glances at Richie for assistance, which he realizes a second too late was the wrong thing to do.

Without hesitation, Richie leans right over and plants a big, sloppy kiss right on Eddie’s lips, tongue and all. Eddie’s intent is to push him off, but his body has unfortunately developed a reflex to kiss back and it takes a second for him to override it.

Eddie eventually manages to shove Richie back far enough to get a look at Stan and Bill’s faces, although Richie responds by basically pulling Eddie all the way into his lap. Bill’s mouth has dropped open slightly and his eyes are very wide, but he doesn’t say anything.

Stan blinks once. “So I guess you guys liked the movie?” he says.

“What the fuck, Stan?” says Richie, knocking into Stan’s arm with his knee. “You promised you’d act surprised.”

“Do I not look surprised?” Stan asks Richie in a monotone, then turns to face Bill. “Bill, did you really not know this was going on?”

Wait, what?!

Bill seems to snap out of his stupor upon being addressed directly. “Um…” he says, “no, I d-d-didn’t. I mean, I th-thought Eddie might be g-g-gay, but…” he shakes his head.

“I am,” says Eddie. “You were right. I’m gay.”

It feels like that should be some kind of enormous statement, but it somehow isn’t. Eddie’s never just _said_ it like that out loud in front of people. He’s practiced it in the mirror at home, very quietly, so his mom wouldn’t hear him, and obviously Richie knows, but even with him Eddie uses phrases like _being into guys_ or _being...you know._ Richie has referred to him as _gay_ before and Eddie didn’t challenge him, but he figures it’s different to say it for himself. Behind him, Richie makes a noise of outrage.

“Wait—so you assumed _I_ was straight?” Richie demands. “That’s the worst thing anyone has ever thought about me!”

“You sure about that?” mutters Stan.

“How did you not know I was bi?” Richie continues. “It’s not like I try to hide it around you guys. How many times have I said I’d fuck that guy from _California Dreaming?”_

“Y-you say a lot of things,” Bill points out. “Sometimes it’s hard to t-t-tell when you’re being serious.”

“Which guy in _California Dreaming?”_ Ben asks.

“The main guy,” says Richie.

“Huh,” says Ben, squinting at them. “He kinda looks like Eddie a little bit, actually.”

“Uh _yeah,_ I know,” Richie replies. “That’s why I want to f—”

“So wait,” Eddie says, leaning forward in Richie’s lap, “lemme just… Stan, you _did_ know? How?”

“Uh…” Richie shifts uncomfortably underneath Eddie. Eddie whips around to face him.

“Word of advice,” says Stan, “if you don’t want anyone to find out about stuff like that, maybe try _not_ having your first kiss at a sleepover with four other people in the room.”

“You weren’t asleep?” Eddie asks Stan. He turns to face Richie. “I thought he was asleep!”

“I didn’t tell him,” Richie says to Eddie, holding his hands up. “I swear to God. The next morning—”

“Wait, wait, wait, what?” says Mike. “What sleepover?”

“Oh, remember the one at the end of ninth grade?” Stan says. “We watched...I think it was…um…”

 _“Dead Poets Society,”_ Ben supplies.

“That’s the one,” Stan snaps his fingers.

“Ohh,” says Mike, “now I remember. You guys kissed then?”

“Everyone else was asleep,” Stan tells him. _“I_ was trying to sleep too, as a matter of fact.”

“Anyway,” Richie says, over the chaos, “the next morning Stan comes up and he’s like, _hey saw you and Eddie making out last night, what’s up with that?_ and what was I gonna say? _No, you didn’t?”_

“That is exactly what you said,” says Stan.

“Well, it didn’t work, you were all like, _I was three feet away from you, you guys had a whole conversation about kissing and then you started doing it and I was right fucking there._ So then I had to just be like, _please don’t tell anyone you saw that because I’m not sure if Eddie’s ready for that,_ you know, and then…”

“...and then here we are, a year later,” Stan finishes. “Bill, you still with us?”

“Yes,” Bill says definitively, once again looking startled to have been spoken to. “S-so...was I the only one who didn’t know?” he asks. He looks a little crestfallen at the thought.

“No,” Eddie assures him. “Well, kind of. I didn’t think _anyone_ knew before like...Wednesday. I told Ben and Mike, and I think Ben told Bev…?” Ben nods, and Eddie continues. “I _thought_ we were telling you and Stan today, but I guess just you. Sorry,” he finishes softly.

“I already knew though,” Ben says. “Before Eddie told me. I sort of figured it out on my own.”

“I only knew Richie liked Eddie,” Mike adds.

“Come to think of it,” Bill says, “I guess I sort of w-w… I sort of wondered if maybe you liked Richie, E-eddie. You guys spend a lot of t-t-time alone together, and…”

“Aw yeah,” Richie says, leaning back. Eddie can’t see it, but he knows exactly what face he’s making. “Getting me some of that Spaghetti-O sauce.”

“And I know all about _that,”_ Stan cuts in. “Eddie, I would literally die for you, but I know things about you that I have never wanted to know about another human being in my life.”

Eddie’s face heats up like a furnace and he turns to glare at Richie, who looks totally one hundred percent _not sorry._

“What? I needed to talk to someone about—”

“Brag,” Stan says. “You mean _brag_ to someone.”

“Well you already knew,” Richie reasons. “So, no harm done.”

“Except to my virgin ears, but whatever,” says Stan. But he catches Eddie’s eyes and smiles a little, so Eddie knows he doesn’t really mean any of it.

Bill is smiling too, and he laughs at the look on Eddie’s face, leaning back against Ben’s legs. No one mentions that this conversation doesn’t leave the room—they don’t need to.

Eddie kind of feels like he could use a nap, or possibly a run around the block. He’s both emotionally exhausted and jittery, almost like he’s physically lighter for having his secret out in the open. He sinks back into Richie’s chest.

“W-we could watch something else if—” Bill starts.

 _“Batman,”_ Richie cuts in immediately.

“Not _Batman,”_ says Stan.

“I brought _When Harry Met—”_

“Nope,” Richie says, before Eddie can beat him to it. “Ben, I love you, but fuck no.”

“You guys w-w-work it out,” says Bill, looking over at the bowl in Mike’s lap before standing and picking it up. “I’m going to make some more k-k-kettle corn.”

“Can you bring me a Sprite?” Eddie asks from his perch in Richie’s lap.

“One Sprite, c-c-coming right up,” says Bill. “Anyone else?”

They call out soda orders, disjointed, and Mike offers to help Bill carry it all back out to the living room and it’s all...so ordinary. The wind is blowing like crazy outside, Eddie can see the branches of trees bending and leaves tumbling in the street, but the world can’t get them in Bill’s warm living room. It feels like nothing can.

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me about these idiots at yallreddieforthis.tumblr.com
> 
> There's definitely going to be at least one more part to this series! _Possibly_ two. I'm considering doing a companion piece that takes place in the same timeline but follows Benverly's relationship.
> 
> Also a million thanks to Dawnseeker for listening patiently for approximately one million hours of me talking about this story before writing it. And another million thanks to Jillian_Bowes who continues to painstakingly beta read all my Reddie fics despite not even being in this fandom.


End file.
